


Antiseptic Extract

by DustySoul



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, Telepathic Bond, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 21:02:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4034491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustySoul/pseuds/DustySoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the kink meme</p><p> </p><p>"CLASSIC TROPE TIME</p><p>Two or more characters end up telepathically/psychically linked somehow. Hijinks ensue.</p><p>Gen preferred, though Matt/Foggy/Karen, Matt/Karen, or (my secret weakness, for super extra bonus points) Karen/Claire are also pretty gr9 in my book."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Antiseptic Extract

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Saathi1013](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saathi1013/gifts).



> Giving myself an easy way to add a chapter 2 if I decide to go there.

Something smells like antiseptic. Something smells  _really_  strongly like antiseptic. Like her whole apartment was fire hosed down with the stuff while she was out. Actually… is it…  _her_  that smells like antiseptic? Those are… also the scents of her shampoo and body wash. But... it's as if all those scents where emanating from a point like, a yard a head of her. And a yard a head of her is a wall. The wall to the outside. And there is definitely no floating point out her window that smells like antiseptic extract. She opens the window just to be sure. Yeah, no. Not there.

It only takes a second for the smell of piss, stagnate water, and garbage (spoiled milk, rotting… is that Chinese food?, And used cat littler) to waft up from the streets. She slams the window shut before gaging.  _Eeuugggh_.

But that still doesn’t clear up the confusion of the first smell, which seems to be coming from a point even farther away. Like, maybe the apartment building across the street. She gives up on the mystery and decides to ignore it. She’s got more pressing things to worry about, like Matt. She checks his vitals.

Heart rate, respiration, blood pressure… all seem fine. He should wake up soon.

She pads around her apartment, running a lode of laundry, cleaning out her sink, when she becomes aware of a heart beat, padding along separately to her own. She feels it in her neck and chest and ears, just like she would her own if she closed her eyes and concentrated. It gives her a start.

 _Claire_?

She rushes back into the sitting room at the sound of her name. “Matt?” she asks, suddenly not even sure if he’d even actually said something. He doesn’t appear to have moved since she last examined him.

But his eyes flutter and he swallows. “What’s wrong?”

“I- something weird is…”

His face creases in concern and he takes a deep breath.

“I think I might be hallucinating.” Claire admits. “There’s this smell,” and she breaths it in now, her “green apple” shampoo and the indiscernible notes of her body wash that she used to think of as “subtle” are now broadcasted to her loud and clear. And antiseptic. She is smelling herself. But also… not? And her heartbeat, slow, sounds ridiculously loud.

_I think I might be too._

Claire stumbles back, having watched has Matt’s lips definitely did not move. And the voice… wasn’t quite his either. More… resonant but a little higher in pitch. “You’re not like, practicing ventriloquism are you?”

 _No._  He adds after a minute,  _Hurts to talk._ And Claire can feel a shadow of a burning in her own throat. And Matt’s… amused, and it’s not just the ghost of a smile telling her that.

 _Okay._ Claire thinks.  _Okay._

_You’re very calm about this._

_Right back at you._

_You just crossed your arms over your chest!_

_… Yes?_

Matt’s giddy at that… which is a little worrying. Not as worrying as the whole… yeah. Not as worrying as everything else he and she and  _they’ve_  got going on.

 _I just can never really be_ **_sure_ ** _. Like maybe that person is crossing their arms. Or maybe they put their hands in their armpits. Or maybe something else. You know?_

_Nope._

But she can feel a gentle happiness washing over her concern, and knows Matt can feel it too.

 _So what do you think caused this?_ She settles into an arm chair.

Flashes of sense, presumably from Matt’s battle, flicker across her mind. She relaxes into them, hedging that focusing too hard on any one thing wouldn’t be exactly comfortable. He settles on a moment where he is on his knees, gravel digging into his flesh, head tilted up to someone. Hands, wrinkled and leathery, touching his cheeks. There is chanting all around him, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

It quiets Claire, not sure what to make of it.

_World on fire…_

_World on fire._

_But it’s… it’s more like just_ **_knowing_ ** _the world… like being the Matrix while being a fixed point… I’ve lost you, haven't I?_

_It’s a movie?_

_It’s a movie. Matt, do you get my sight…?_

The answer to that is a resounding  _no._ And darkness encroaches on her own vision.  _No._

_Don’t be sad…_

_Wouldn’t you… you know, have liked another chance to see?_

He pulls away from her so that all she knows of him is distance. It leaves her feeling cold and hollowed, a shuddering surprise when not two hours ago she’d never known this... contact. She closes the physical space between them, coming to stand with her legs pressed against her sofa.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s just… it doesn’t matter.”

_How do you think we can fix this?_

This time he lets her feel is discontent.  _I can… talk to Stick._ That name is associated with pain. And being small. And a voice, stern and old, saying, “Get up, Mattie” and the clack clack of a cane against the ground. 

 _Do not worry on my behalf._ He tells her.

_It’s impossible not to._

A vast, though understated, kind of affection fills her, making it suddenly hard to breathe. She forces out an exhale.

 _I…_ She clamps down on the thought.

_… What?_

_It’s nothing._

She can’t name the emotions crawling up her throat (Fear? Shame? Anxiety?) and wonders if Matt can.

_Get some rest. Maybe it will just wear off by morning. Maybe it won't be real in the morning._

She remembers going to sleep the night after the invasion of New York and thinking that exact thought.

_Claire?_

She waits, expectant.

_Don't leave._

She fidgets, then decides to settle in the arm chair. It's not a comfortable place to sleep but... she also doesn't want to be alone. Not right now. Now when it isn't even a choice... Might as well pretend....

_Claire. **Sleep**._

And Matt starts to count slowly, methodically backwards from 100 in his own thoughts. His senses go lethargic and start to fade away altogether, into the bleakest awareness of consciousness. Claire can't help put follow. They're both asleep before he gets to 50.   

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to message or follow me on tumblr at dusty-soul.tumblr.com


End file.
